


A Mother Scorned

by Labradoodles_and_Muffins



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Gen, brief war based depictions, light mass murder references, non-character narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Labradoodles_and_Muffins/pseuds/Labradoodles_and_Muffins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like any good mother, she will defend her children until her dying breath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mother Scorned

They're all gone, torn from her breast by an invasion that she could not stop. She had tried her best, sent boulders to block their path, howling beasts to spook their horses – but they didn't come on horses. They came on the wings of great metal beasts, designed to destroy from on high – and, when that failed, she called upon the Jagd for help, but it was unable to come to her aid in time.

They stormed her village, her weak, practically defenceless and utterly unprepared village. They lured people out with threats and honeyed words. Some people fled to seek help, some stood and fought and some did whatever they could to survive, changing sides and sealing away the memories of their home, swearing allegiance to the enemy.

She cannot blame them for what they have done, they only wanted to live. She understands that feeling. Instead, she blames the ones who swooped in on their metal monsters and stole her children from her. She blames the ones who pushed the buttons which sent huge, screaming weapons of war to the village, obliterating all who stood in their way.

She blames the men that guided their swords to her people's throats and chests, the men which wielded torches and burnt the village to the ground. Thick black clouds covered the land for days, the smell that drifted on the breeze strong enough to make even the most steel-nosed man queasy. It stank of straw and wood and the scattered dead.

She needs only to turn her thoughts to that dark chapter to feel her own nausea. But….it really didn't last long enough to be considered a chapter did it? Such destruction horrified her but, when placed next to the other atrocities committed by those men; it barely warranted a paragraph in the story of this war. Her children, her village, will not be forgotten however, or brushed off as nothing more than another casualty of war.

The survivors, two in particular, have made enough of an impact outside the village boundaries to prevent that. It's true that they are mainly remembered for where their later loyalties lay, Dalmasca and Archades, but she has heard the whispers which reassure her that their original home will not be lost in the pull of history, not yet.

The army that stole her village from her left the remains standing; meant to represent a warning for the rest of what would happen if they resisted. Instead, it became a place of mourning and rebellion. People who went there to show respect for the dead often left with dangerous thoughts in their heads, thoughts of fighting back and not allowing such a loathsome kingdom to remain in control. She fed these thoughts with her ways, never allowing herself to give way to an enemy. They had to fight their way past her; she would not hold the gates open for them.

It has been many years now since the invasion swept across the land, with many more casualties. She still returns her attention to that village on occasion, lovingly caressing the remains with a melancholy nostalgia. It had been a learning experience though, and she was better prepared when it came to defending the next town. She failed to stop the enemy but at least it still stood. That was the important thing, to protect her people's lives and homes.

Their freedom is for them to defend and their rulers are their own issues. She has no patience for politics but these are her people and she will do what she can. She is not above making the occupying army uncomfortable though, sneaking sand into their food and their armour, spoiling their wine and generally making things as difficult as possible for them.

She will not cease in her efforts, as futile as they seem at the present. The men in their suits of armour and smug strut know this; they fear her wrath, as much as they refuse to show it. They will not leave the safety of the cities unless forced, afraid of what she will do to them. This is a smart move, should she find them in her territory, she would tear them to pieces, she would break them, physically and mentally, until nothing was left but a pathetic, snivelling husk.

For now, she quietly bides her time. She is patient and could wait for decades, knowing that, eventually, they will be forced from their secure perches. Eventually, they will have no choice but to flee and hope that she is merciful.

That will take some time however, so for now she lies in wait and plots, assisting her people as best she can. She is the desert and these are her children. Like any good mother, she will defend her children until her dying breath.


End file.
